


the irremediable

by luminaries



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminaries/pseuds/luminaries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a difference between being immortal and being deathless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the irremediable

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for what might be considered suicidal ideation and Melkor waxing poetic about the apocalypse.

As the traveller returns from beyond the frayed edges of a world incomplete, bearing nothing with him, but an unrelenting ache and the disappointment of having looked in the face of life without guessing its secret, the Vala settles on an empty patch of sky, body unwinding into strips of dark matter. Although he has perceived the void, the kingdom of non-existence that no eye can perceive, and become acquainted with its lack of life and will, the voyage has left Melkor with the realization that the Flame Imperishable is hidden not in any material corner of the world, but only in the grasp of the Creator.

For a moment he wonders why Eru did not deem it necessary to share this power with him, for he has been made the first among his brethren, keeper of all knowledge except for the one needed to breathe life into the soft, clay-like bodies of lesser beings. Alas, it is of no importance, as he will travel beyond where his authority extends, to the place where the All-Father resides, and ask to be given his divine right, for Melkor cannot imagine living a life bereft of this gift.

The sky begins to revolve in the place where he extinguishes, and, carried on the wings of such dire despair, the Mighty Arising becomes as a tempest, breaking loose from the veil of the world and into the sphere of the one who created him. Millenniums flee from his path in less than a flash, a firmament of stars lies above him, as well as below, and Melkor seems to be a bolt of light, wandering through empty space. From the Chaos’ vales he sees, as it was in the first day, the world struggling to be born, erupting as if in flames, which try to hem him in, but he breaks free and flies, turning from a being into a thought, carried only by desire, to the point in which everything perishes.

And in that sphere there are no bounds, no mind to understand, and time strives vainly there to come to life from the dark voids.  There is only nothingness, a depth similar to blind forgetfulness, but there is still the thirst that burns his throat, and Melkor cannot forget.

As he finds himself before Ilúvatar, the Vala steels himself, the daunting presence from all around him breeding awe, and begins his plea.

“From my endless craving, I beg you, save me, Father! Give me the power to breathe life into my creations, to reach my true potential. I wish for nothing more but this, and I will gladly relinquish my privilege for just a moment in which the tumult of my thoughts is ceased. I long for my dreams to take shape, for my hands to mold the Universe and make of it a true Utopia! Hear my prayer, o my Lord, and be forever praised!”

“Belekorôz, who has risen from the depths with an entire world, do not ask for signs and miracles that have no name or form.  What you ask and desire is to be born with a new fate, but you spare no thought to the balance that must yet be preserved. For I have made all that you are with a purpose in mind, and no word of mine can undo what has already been set in stone. A demiurge you choose to be, and so it will be done! You will aid the birth of nations, and be my helping hands, as you are of the prime form and an eternal prodigy, but the Flame I cannot give you. Go, now, find your peace! And cease your endless travels, for there is still much left to weave in this unfinished earth!”

Hearing the final verdict of the one all-powerful, Melkor frowns, quiets the screaming in his head, the fingernails raking down the sides of his soul that might be fear. He’s heard of that before, but never has he felt anything like it in his existence, and he hates it, hates himself, but it also brings a moment of terrible clarity.

“Then unmake me, Father! Return me to the dark, choking endlessness from which I have been furled, for you are a giver of death, as well as life! From Chaos I have come, and to Chaos I shall return. Give me the shut-eye and the final rest, while the wandering world continues in its movement. If I cannot quench the fires that devour my being, and I cannot have the Flame Imperishable, then I shall cease existing, and offer no more grief.”

As he spoke, Melkor felt more and more at peace. This he cannot be refused, and the void he has for a soul will never bother him again.

“Oh, my Son, you would have me undo the brightest being of my creation? Here we know neither time, nor space, and if a sun were to fall from the sky, a sun would quicken again. The humans have received a gift, for they are all born only to die, and they die to be reborn, but you will remain forevermore, no matter where you flee. Rejoice, for there is much more waiting for you in the world you so wish to abandon.”

Upon finding himself bereft of any and all hope, Melkor restores his first dominion on the sky, a trembling shape, consuming and resuming itself by turns, and now, for the first time, the world holds no more wonders.

“What matters to you, o benevolent Creator, if it was me or someone else fulfilling your imposed prophecy? Is it by mistake or design that my thought is carried eons into the future and I can see the scapegoat that fate’s made of me? At least give me the comfort of believing that the roads I take will not invariably lead to my demise! One small change was all it would have taken for me to live out my existence in splendid indolence, like the rest of my brethren…”

His hate shines, multifaceted and terrible, and it is ugly and beautiful, like the freedom he will never have. His eyes fill with blood, his visage a grotesque mask of fierce anguish and determination.

“You live in your narrow sphere, with providence as your mistress, but in my steady world I feel eternal, cold and true! A killer and a destroyer of worlds you have fashioned me, and I will be the dutiful son, the One Who Arises in Might!”  A sneer cuts its way across his face at the words.

“When the earth is turned into a dripping dungeon, in which hope flutters like a lost bat, when the light turns red and closes like a wound, obscured by ominous clouds, when celestial bodies freeze up and break loose away in space, free from the reins of the Valar, when, like rotten, deadened leaves, stars fall down from the heights, when time’s dead, corpséd shell is stretched out into eternity, only then will I know rest. For a dream of inexistence is the Universe’s mark, and when silence duly falls on this wasteland’s barren folds, I will hold myself acquitted of my duty and retire, as once more, serenely ruling, the eternal peace takes hold.”


End file.
